


Everything Could Be New

by raineraine



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Comic Book Shop, Fic Exchange, Fluff, GGE2017, Holiday Fic Exchange, I Will Go Down With This Ship, M/M, Meet-Cute, One Shot, Power Rangers reference, What-If, au-ish
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-15
Updated: 2018-01-15
Packaged: 2019-03-05 06:33:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13382172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raineraine/pseuds/raineraine
Summary: What if Ian and Mickey met somewhere else? And what if that somewhere happened to be a comic book shop?





	Everything Could Be New

**Author's Note:**

> Different from my usual angsty style with these crazy kids, but a prompt I received was too fun not to go with.

The first time Ian had walked past Abe’s Used Books, he hadn’t thought twice about it. Hell, maybe the first fifty times. The exterior of the shop was deceivingly plain, merely red brick with sun-bleached posters in the windows. The window awnings had seen better days, tattered edges releasing frayed threads when the wind blew. 

 

It was Debbie that lured him in one day, on a desperate hunt for something to read that wasn’t “for babies or boys.” Ian relented, letting her pull him along the sidewalk and through the creaking wooden door that brushed at a bell as it opened. 

 

“Am I supposed to help you pick something?” Ian asked skeptically. He nodded to the shopkeeper at the counter. “He’d know what you’re after more than I would, Debs.”

 

“I don’t want any help!” Debbie huffed, releasing Ian’s hand to stalk toward the ‘Teen’ section.

  
“You’re twelve!” Ian called after her, shaking his head as he shoved his hands into his pockets.  _ But what the hell am I supposed to do now? _

 

The man behind the counter raised an eyebrow, taking in Ian’s discomfort in a quick once-over that made him squirm. Wordlessly, the man set the thick hardback book in his hand on the counter, gesturing for Ian to follow. Ian followed through the stacks of shelves, surprised at how far back the store really went, until they rounded a corner in the back. Boxes of comics, slipped into plastic sleeves, sat on four long rows of tables, giving just enough space to step around them without hitting the wall.

 

“I think you’re better suited for this part of the store.”

 

Ian glanced at the tall old man, still skeptical from his mannerisms. The nametag on his paisley shirt read “Mark,” and his greying eyebrows were knit together in a way that could have been a scowl or merely concentration.    
  
“Thanks-- uh-- Mark,” Ian said awkwardly, gesturing to the tables. “I think I’ll take a look.”

 

Mark gave a low grumble before disappearing around the corner once more, leaving Ian with the comics. Debbie was undoubtedly still prowling around the shelves, looking for a stack of used books that they couldn’t really afford.  _ Might as well browse to kill some time. _

 

* * *

 

It wasn’t supposed to become a habit. Gallaghers just couldn’t help it— obsession was in their genetic code. 

 

That didn’t stop Ian from prowling the rows of boxes, learning to stow away a few dollars here and there between paydays. Ever since that denial from West Point, he’d sought distractions. With comics it was simple. Ian could pick up the books for as little as fifty cents and get lost. 

 

There was a comfort in skimming words that made up storylines he remembered from years before. Batman and Robin, Teen Titans, the works— all viewed while sitting in Lip’s lap on Saturday mornings while Fiona fiddled with the antenna on the TV to keep the cartoons on. 

 

Lip’s favorite had always been Power Rangers. At four, Ian didn’t get a grip on the storyline, but appreciated watching them fight off bad guys. One snowy Saturday, Mark had noticed Ian’s disappointed expression as he headed for the door empty-handed. 

 

“I was holding on to something for you,” he called after Ian, digging under the counter. “Issue number three if I’m not mistaken.”

 

“You keeping tabs on my purchases?” Ian couldn’t keep the grin off of his face as he leaned over the countertop to survey Mark’s offering. “You’re right. I just finished the second one. How much?”

 

“Three bucks. But I’ll warn you, this is a newer run. You’re not going to find these ones used.”

 

Digging a few ones out of his pocket, Ian thought about what Mark had said, and deposited the bills on the counter. “I’ll take my chances. Already my favorite.”

 

Mark nodded, hiding a smile somewhere beneath his moustache that reached his eyes. “I’ll keep them on order for you, Ian.”

 

Ian left whistling, the comic book tucked into his jacket to protect it from another Chicago blizzard as he ran for the L. 

 

* * *

 

There’s a danger in getting used to something. You come to expect that things will always be a certain way, the way you left them. Ian was used to coming into Abe’s and beelining for the back of the store, never interrupted by other patrons.

All of that changed when he rounded the corner with three comics in his hand, ready to pay, and ran face-first into another body. 

 

“What the fuck?!”

 

Ian’s eyes widened from his spot on the floor, braced for confrontation at the tone of the other person’s voice. “Look, I’m sorry, there’s never anyone else here and I just—”

 

“Jesus, you talk a lot.” The same voice that yelled moments before belonged to a dark-haired head, sitting up and rubbing his eyes. “Are you gonna keep staring or are you gonna help me up?”

 

Ian pulled himself up, offering a hand to pull the other patron to his feet. Now that he could get a good look, Ian couldn’t believe who was standing in front of him. “Are you… Mickey Milkovich?”

 

“What the fuck is it to you?” 

 

“I never expected to see you anywhere near a bookstore.” Ian rubbed the back of his neck, feeling the tension of the situation setting in. “Which of these were yours?” He gestured to the mix of comics on the floor, ready to pick up his and get out of the store that was beginning to feel suffocatingly small.

 

“Aren’t you South Side too?” Mickey snorted, pointing a finger at the holes in Ian’s shoes. “I recognize poor when I see it. You work over at the market in my neighborhood don’t you?” The question hung in the air for a moment before Mickey flicked his wrist dismissively, bending down to pick up his comics. “The Batman ones. Contagion, Life After Death, and Endgame.”

 

“Those are trade paperbacks,” Ian challenged. “Where are those in here? I’ve only seen single issues.”

 

Mickey rolled his eyes, gathering his books and picking up Ian’s. “I’ll show you. C’mere. You’ve probably been walking right past them.”

 

Ian took in the details of Mickey as he walked ahead. The dark hair, the shorter stature, down to the way his jeans clung in all the right ways. How had he never paid attention beyond his name? 

 

“Here!” Mickey thumped the shelf, tucked just around the corner from the cove of comics Ian spent all his time in. “Told you, probably walked right past it. I’ve got an order to pick up from Mark.”

 

“So do I,” Ian disclosed, sparing a glance at the shelf that held the trade paperbacks and committing the location to memory. “More Batman?”

 

“Very funny,” Mickey answered smartly. “Power Rangers, if you must know.” 

 

“It’s called friendly conversation, you should try it some time.” Ian raised a hand to Mark, letting him know he was headed for the register. “Maybe you’d find out you’re not the only one with Power Rangers on order.”

 

“No shit?”

 

“No shit,” Mark drawled from behind the counter, waving the pair of boys closer. “You two are going to scare away all my customers, get over here.” 

 

“What customers?” They chorused, exchanging a look at the unexpected synchronization. 

 

“Merry Christmas, these are on the house if you shut up and get outta my store.” Mark dropped two identical copies of Power Rangers Issue #4 on the counter. “And none of that ‘you don’t have to do that’ nonsense either.”

 

“I’m broke. Not about to argue you with you over free.” Mickey picked up the comic and replaced it with his stack of paperbacks. “But ring these up, man.”

 

Mark snorted, shaking his head and ringing Mickey up before bagging it all together. “And you?” He nodded to the comics in Ian’s hand. “Put ‘em up here.”

 

Ian paid for the three issues, taking the bag and nodding to Mark. “Merry two-fucking-weeks-til Christmas. Thank you.”

 

* * *

 

Mickey was nearly out the door before Ian could turn around, jogging across the store after him to match Mickey’s stride. “The fuck are you doing?”

 

“Wondering how a South Side kid is paying for comics. And how your dad isn’t killing you over them.” At Mickey’s raised brow, Ian flushed, holding up a hand palm-out. “Dude, everyone has heard about your dad.”

“Aren’t you Frank’s kid?” Mickey challenged, crossing his arms as they reached a street light. “I’ve heard of him too. If that bastard is any clue, I should kick your ass down the street before you can open your mouth again.”

 

“Touche,” Ian allowed. “I’m Ian.”

 

“Mickey, as you already guessed. You hungry?”

 

“Why?” Ian studied Mickey skeptically, wondering if the next thing out of his mouth would be an offer for a knuckle sandwich. 

 

“Don’t be so edgy, Gallagher,” Mickey gwaffed. “Wanna hit the diner?”

 

“Only if we’re going to Dalley’s. They serve breakfast all day,” Ian offered with a smirk. “Can’t beat pancakes.”

 

“Add a side of hashbrowns and a pot of coffee. Now get moving, it’s cold as hell out here.”


End file.
